CelidahD

Father cleared his throat. "Your mother came to see me." I jerked my head up and looked at him. My dreams of the three of us supping, working, and living together rushed to mind, and I felt hope rise in my heart. "Really?" "Aye. She said we had a lot to talk about. That...she owed me an apology." Father didn't seem very happy. I then realized that nothing in the house seemed different from when I'd left. No extra belongings, no sign of a third person in our home. "And?" "And, uh, it was good." He fidgeted. "It was good. We said many things that should have been said a long time ago." "...She's not coming back, is she?" My father looked at me,

Marigolds are edible. Good in salads, too. You taught me that. I didn’t think you were the kind of person to know that, but you did. Then again, I didn’t think you were much of a salad person, either, but you make the best salads. Not just tasty, but pleasing to the eye as well. Maybe it’s because of the marigolds. I miss your salad. I miss the orange stains on the cutting board. I miss picking up little pieces of marigold leaves off the kitchen floor. I miss the sight of you walking in with a fistful of blossoms. I try not to think about the fact that I may never eat marigolds with you again. Sometimes, though, I can̵

Agent Coulson cleared his throat. "Okay, so thanks for agreeing to play, guys," he said, fiddling with a d20. "I really appreciate it, and I think we'll all really going to enjoy ourselves." "Uh yeah," Tony drawled, "Why am I here again? This is a nerd thing. I don't do nerd things." "No?" asked Steve. "I could have sworn you once said something about going to Dungeons and Dragons camp--" "Whoa, wait, Tony went to Dungeons and Dragons camp?" Bruce asked. "Hey! That was a long time ago. In my misguided youth." "You say that like you outgrew your 'misguided youth.'" Steve retorted. The corner of his mouth quirked as he leaned back in his c

My grandfather told me never to go to Fingers Lake. Too many people had gone there only to vanish, and the ones who had returned always ended up going insane. Those few survivors came with stories of hands reaching out of the ground, grabbing ankles, and anguished voices on the wind whispering, "Save us, save us." That's why they called it Fingers Lake. No one knew where the hands had come from. Some said that a serial killer had buried his victims there. Others claimed they were unlucky boaters that had drowned in the lake. All agreed that the hands were hauntings of some sort, and no one doubted the survivors' stories. I lay awake many ni